The bright moon illuminated the two of us and the weird, dark light allowed me to take him in. My eyes roamed over shoulders that were broad and a dark thatch of hair I could also feel against my stomach trailing into his shorts. He had a lean throat, and he was breathing as hard as I was. His cheeks were covered in dark hair, not quite a beard, more an overgrown stubble. He had nice white teeth, and his mouth was opened in an ‘O’ shape as he tried to constrain the adrenaline pumping through him. His nose was perfectly strong without controlling his whole face and his witch-dark eyes, which could have almost been black for all I knew, were piercing me as if he was trying to read my mind. A crop of dark hair rounded him out, water dripping from random curls. My eyes followed one drop down his nose and onto his top lip, where his tongue darted out to lick at it. I felt quite warm suddenly.
I was still breathing hard, trying to get oxygen back into my lungs and I now tried to compose myself rationally by stepping back from the very attractive would-be rescuer, but the height difference between us and the depth of the water meant that his feet were in the sand, while mine were several inches off it. His proximity was overwhelming. I had not touched a man in an age and our chests were pressed together. My nipples were already hard from the water, and I felt heat shoot down low into my stomach.
He moved, taking two steps towards the shore and gently set me down, making sure my footing was stable before letting me go.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered, again.
His voice was as dark as the shadows where the bright rays of the moonlight could not reach, and my skin erupted into goosebumps at the absence of his body heat.
‘I’m fine. Although, weirdly, I’ve had “Hotel California” stuck in my head since I arrived,’ I stated firmly.
He gave a reluctant, short laugh, as if that was the most unexpected thing he’d ever heard. It was a harsh, raspy noise, as though it had gone unused for a period of time.
I placed a hand in the centre of his firm chest, into the thatch of hair, attempting to push away from him. The lack of oxygen had, apparently, severed the connection between my brain and arm, because my fingers lingered a little, exploring him. He drew a sharp breath and his hand launched up, quickly covering mine, his black-hole eyes boring into me.
Jesus, Abbey, stop touching the man.I moved to put space between myself and the touchable stranger, suddenly hyper-aware that my boobs were out. Uncertain how to remove myself from him while covering this fact, I reasoned that there seemed little point in trying to hide it, although I wrapped one arm around them to give me a modicum of modesty and then walked out of the water. Reaching the collection of items on the sand, I picked up my dress, bra and champagne bottle before yelling over my shoulder, ‘Thanks for rescuing me.’
I padded up to the doors of my room, throwing myself under the outdoor shower, removing the sand from my feet and sliding my knickers down from my hips, not particularly caring if my knight in shining armour caught more of a glimpse of my less-than-bangable body than he had in the water. I reached for the perfect towel, fluffy and white and huge, turning off the lights before sliding into perfect heavy cotton sheets. The bed was so tucked in it felt like a straitjacket, but the weight of it, and my inability to move, combined with the bottle of champagne, was comforting. Everything was perfect here … but me. I drifted off to sleep.
Nick
Christ, the glare is actually going to kill me.
It was even more of a struggle to feel the holiday vibes this year than usual. In fact, I couldn’t remember a great time on holiday, ever. I’m almost certain it’s a curse.
For instance, the year our mother and father took me and my siblings to Disneyland, I caught a stomach bug and ended up vomiting for four days straight. The year they took us to Tokyo, my little sister broke her arm after slipping on ice in the airport car park.In Heathrow before we left.Holidays did not bode well for Northbys.
I walked over to the block-out curtains of the floor-to-ceiling doors, which revealed the best view in the whole resort, and pulled them firmly closed, shutting out the handful of couples on deckchairs under grassed umbrellas. The room itself was comfortable, the bed firm, but the breeze in the night that would come through the curtains was the only real bliss afforded here.
Last night, though, something out of the ordinary had occurred and I could not stop thinking about it.
The night had started exactly the way the previous three had: I’d showered, getting rid of the salt on my skin, after having my one swim per day in the late afternoon, avoiding sunburn; I’d drunk a bottle of wine for dinner along with a room-service order of a surprisingly decent hamburger and fries; I’d answered thirty emails in my work inbox that could not wait for my holiday to end. I’d then been walking towards the open doors of my bedroom to close the curtains when I saw her: a woman zig-zagging her way down the beach towards the water.
She was carrying a champagne bottle, which she put down in the sand, taking an inordinate amount of time to ensure it did not tip over. She’d turned her head towards the rooms and I’d frozen, only relaxing again when she’d changed direction, looking up and down the beach.
She’d removed her dress, and I felt my eyebrows rise into my hair. And, yeah, it was probably a little pervy to keep looking at the drunk lady going for a night swim. I am not in the habit of perving on women or looking for some sort of holiday fling, which, I’ve always thought, sounded vaguely exhausting. But there was just something about her. Like the way her fair, wavy hair was gently catching the breeze, revealing her neck, and I couldn’t drag my eyes away from her.
She’d got the dress off with a wiggle of her hips and tossed it back to the champagne bottle. My breath had caught when I’d realised I could see her gentle curves, the outline of her hips, and the swell of her ample bust. She’d stood with one hand on her hip for a moment before removing what I assumed was her bikini top. It wasn’t until I saw the lace that I realised it was a black bra. It too was thrown back to the champagne bottle, a little flirtingly, I’d thought, snickering.
When she’d walked into the water, I’d returned to shutting the curtains, but then the worry started. How much had she actually had to drink? Would she be okay? It wasn’t safe if she was alone. I stepped outside, trying to hear other sounds from her room, right next door. I just needed to know she wasn’t alone in the world.
I was met with only silence, not even the television was on. I felt fear kick in. She’d been under at least a minute so far.
I’d seen enough therapists to know the signs of adrenaline rushing. I could taste it, a metallic flavour invading my mouth.Fuck.
I broke into a full sprint, the wine and the hamburger protesting the exertion. I threw off my shirt onto the white sand and briefly mourned my softest jersey pyjama shorts, before leaping into the water like David fucking Hasselhoff. The moon was full and there was an almost ridiculous amount of light, but my search for a shadow in the water was pointless as the water just looked black. I dived to the spot where I thought she had gone under. The panic increased as the sea beat and whooshed, rushing in my ears. I bounced up off the sand bed and took another four steps forward, preparing to dive again, when something collided with my chest.Oof.
I felt her try to pull back, but I reached out, firmly grabbing her and pulling her into me, ensuring she didn’t go under again.
Even now heat climbed to my cheeks, remembering the feel of her velvety skin, cool and slippery, under my hands, the dawning realisation that her nipples were pressed into my chest.Of course they were, idiot, you watched her take her bra off.Her breathing was hard, but she seemed calm, and I had the first inkling that she had not been at risk of drowning. Her wet hair was long down her back, and clear blue eyes inspected me; I felt they saw more than I wanted them to. I stammered out an apology and set her down, feeling awkward that it had taken me so long to let go of her.
Seconds later she hadn’t moved or spoken and, worried, I asked her again if she was all right. ‘I’m fine,’ she had uttered before giving me a wisecrack about a song being stuck in her head. She had put her hand right in the centre of my chest and I felt myself audibly gasp. My heart had thundered.
It’s just adrenaline. Calm down, Nick.
Her fingers had moved through my chest hair in this familiar way, and my hand shot up, covering hers to still it. My heart pounded harder, and I was clearly not calming down. Her eyes locked with mine and, I swear to you, it was like some sort of magical thing. I think she cast a spell on me. Water was dripping down her pale skin, and she had this vaguely amused look on her face. She took a step back, eyes cast down, and then draped an elegant arm across her chest and walked out of the water.
I watched her as she grabbed her collection of clothes and her bottle. She finally spoke again. ‘Thanks for the rescue.’
